


Maybe Tomorrow

by BlackCats



Category: Kagerou Project, Mekakucity Actors
Genre: F/M, Feelings, heavy introspection, mid-series, second-person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCats/pseuds/BlackCats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's honestly a little sad, how you're certain you'd all but shout out your feelings if he would only say his first.<br/>(Takane, Haruka, and the same old days.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow

You hate this feeling about as much as you love it—a practice in contradictions.

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be sitting in school _every single day_ literally mooning over the only other classmate you had, you’d have laughed yourself breathless before asking what planet they were from. The very idea of you, Takane Enomoto, getting all lovesick over some dorky boy was ridiculous. You had bigger and better things to worry about. Since when was romance even a factor in the equation?

You’ve never been more wrong in your life.

You shift your chin on your palm and look at him. Really _look_ at him. He’s unfairly pretty, with his little mole and tousled hair and long eyelashes that streak as gold as the sun’s rays in the right light. Every time you look at him, you fall in love all over again.

That’s what it’s like, liking him.

Every time you part, you think maybe this old ache inside of you has relaxed a little. Maybe you can actually get through the next day without feeling breathless just because he smiled a certain way, held a door open. Maybe you can go back to just being best friends before you committed this private betrayal, this unrequested advance down the road from _friends_ to _lovers_.

(Of course, this is a solo journey thus far.)

You think that, and then he effortlessly tramples over your heart with a cheerful smile and a _“Good morning!”_

And so the cycle starts anew.

Some days, you think it could’ve been anybody.

It didn’t _have_ to be Haruka. If any kid had been sitting in that desk beside you, you’d have fallen for them too, provided they were kind and patient with you. Throw in a couple of grins and some teasing jabs and you’d have plummeted so quickly that you wouldn’t even have time to pull your parachute. He gives you special consideration. He’s patient with your bad moods and spurs you into your good ones. He’s so ridiculously carefree, you almost can’t believe he’s sick.

(There’s a small square bandage over his wrist, visible as he draws, but you don’t notice.)

_“It could’ve been anybody!”_ is what you tell yourself.

But all you can think of is him.

And all it would take is a simple confession. Three words—maybe more, if he’s being _really_ clueless about it—and you could have it. You try not to think about all the crumpled up balls of love letters in your trash can, left over from when you had considered just slipping one into his shoe locker and being done with it. A solution to your inability to say it to his face.

But you can’t write it either. It didn’t feel right. Having to wait for his reply the next day would have killed you from nerves alone, in a far less merciful death than an instant face-to-face confession. You know what to do.

You just…

Can’t.

There’s something special here. Haruka’s your best friend. Not your _only_ friend anymore, but your oldest, your closest. You’ve both fallen into a comfortable routine that even Sensei has come to recognize. What if you speak up and jeopardize the whole thing? Just bring it all crashing down?

There’s always the possibility that you misread him. Maybe he only tolerates you. Doesn’t care for you at all. He’s just too nice to reject your company outright.

(But you know in your heart of hearts that this isn’t true.)

No. There’s something else you fear more than anything.

It’s that look of pity. The way you can just _picture_ his eyes crinkling at the corners like they do when he gets nervous. He would let you down gently, but in one moment, you would have changed the dynamic of your friendship forever. He’ll treat your feelings like stained glass, beautiful and fragile…or like an old bottle, more like. Transparent and useless but fragile, all the same.

Maybe you’d even drift apart after that.

More than anything, that _scares you_. Scares you more than the dreams where you’re running from the end of the world. Scares you more than sleep-paralysis and how your condition can rob you of consciousness in a moment. Scares you more than—

Wait. No. Scratch that.

It outright _terrifies_ you.

So you don’t say anything.

Because why should he love someone like you anyway? What do you have to offer him? You twist your fingers into your sleeves, and are overly conscious of your unruly pigtails and the shadows beneath your eyes. There’s nothing worth mentioning about you. Nothing that Haruka would find special interest in.

He’s just a nice guy, and wants to be friends with the only other person in his class. Nothing more and nothing less.

You sink a bit in your seat, sliding down with your shifting mood, and he casts you a curious sidelong glance.

“Um, Takane?”

“What?”

“Is there something on my face?”

…Ohgodyou’vebeenstaringathimfortenminuteshaven’tyou.

“I-I wasn’t even _looking_ at you! I was just spacing out!”

You turn around and huff, pointedly staring at a wall of books that Sensei has neglected to dust since the beginning of time, judging by the fine film of gray that’s coating the spines. You can practically _hear_ the eyebrows he must be raising rocketing skyward at your snappish reply.

“Oh, really? Sorry for interrupting!” he says in that tone where you’re not certain if he’s ribbing at you or sincere.

You let it go, just because you don’t have anything clever to say, what with your face still burning from being caught gazing longingly at him. And this isn’t the first time, either.

(Sometimes you wonder if he knows exactly how you feel.)

If he just confessed to you first, it’d be so much easier. But you’re not going to hold your breath. That kind of stuff belongs in the pages of manga, not in real life, no matter how much you wish he’d just take the choice away from you; one way or another.

…The subject of manga makes you think of Ayano, and you wonder if you’ll end up like her. Watching and waiting, always keeping a bit of a distance from the person you like—yet, also staying _so close_ , because of reasons that are far more complex than you will ever understand. It’s the kind of gnawing persistence that could drive a lesser person mad.

It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since you last slept. Maybe you _are_ going mad.

You only realize you’ve been dozing in the sunlight as you chase the tails of your own thoughts once your head falls forward and crashes onto your desk.

Haruka jumps a bit before laughing out a half-startled, half-amused, “Are you okay?”

After considering pulling your head up from the desk, you decide it’ll be easier just to lay there and not let him see how mortified you are.

“I’m fine,” you muffle out, “I’m just tired, all right?”

You’re pitifully defensive even to your own ears. You swear you hear him chuckle just a bit.

“You could use both hands? To support your chin? Maybe that’d be enough to keep you upright!”

Now you _know_ he’s just being cheeky—which is good. Because it’s cute. And infuriating. And _good_. Because if he feels like joking, then he’s not terribly sick today

You turn to scowl at him, but he’s undeterred, wearing this look of pure innocence and concern.

The warmth and feeling behind his smile sinks into your skin, settles into your heart, finds that place that he carved out of you long ago that only he can fill. Or perhaps you were always empty there and just…never knew it. It’s a taste of what you want, a tantalizing spark of a fire that you long to consume you whole.

(You hope, you hope, you _hope_ that if it’s not already there, that you can start one, that he will come to love you too.)

Or, if you were just brave enough to ask, then you could—

“Hey, if you feel well enough to make pointless comments, then you should feel well enough to help me find wherever Sensei’s gone. How does he expect us to _do_ anything when he forgets to leave any assignments with us?”

“Hmm. I hear he didn’t sleep very well last night,” Haruka says, always giving the benefit of the doubt.

You are not so patient. _Especially_ knowing your wayward teacher. You push yourself to your feet, and he swings his long legs out of his seat to follow you to the door, inquisitive.

For all your grumbling, you slide it open for him. Hold it there.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got tests coming up soon, and I don’t know how we’re supposed to study for something we’ve never even _covered_.”

(You don’t care, in reality, but Haruka’s graciously allowed this obvious subject change.)

“He might postpone it again?” he suggests, stepping past you and into the hallway. His shadow falls across you and you dawdle there, looking at his silhouette against the window, and think to yourself—

_Not today. It’s not a good time._

You…You want to be able to rehearse what you want to say. It has to be perfect. Something he’ll never forget. Something that’ll make his heart beat just as quick as yours.

_Maybe another day._

“Um…Where would he be…? Should we check the front office, Takane?”

Yeah.

“Good a place as any. Let’s go, Haruka.”

It doesn’t have to be now, but…you want to. You really do.

Just.

Maybe tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a painful ramble of a fic and i apologize for that. OTL it's kind of some personal feelings too so i hope some emotions at least got across in this; apparently i can't write straight-up angst.


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